I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

For the past ten months, 80% of the phone calls we’ve received have been fielded by me.

I either answer.

Or I return the call.

This isn’t a bad thing.

But there are people who thing I have to be involved to get what they want.

Tonight, I approach the host stand and Olivia, the host says, she’s had two calls asking for me specifically.

She has explained that I’m not available. Exactly as she has been instructed to do.

One of the calls is from a local business, a woman I know well.

This is important because 20 minutes later this woman is in our lobby calling me over.

She wants to introduce me to her friends.

Three people from Arkansas.

Very. Very. Very thick accents.

She has arrived with them.

They have a reservation for 2 people but have shown up with three people.

We are booked solid.

I turn the iPad toward me and find a solution.

Now they want to sit at the bar to have a drink first.

They are 60 minutes early for their reservation.

I figure that issue out.

They are seated.

And then they pull out their racist bullshit. Chatting about the Asian couple seated near them. Muslims.

Bullshit.

The bartender is losing her mind.

They also tell the bartender that I called them white trash.

Hmmm.

Those words are not in my vocabulary.

I’ve had those words used to describe be.

I don’t use them.

They just need to be human beings.

Not assholes.

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Summer is definitely here.

Our numbers have increased.

But.

More importantly the grumpy people have increased a million times over.

I told one server tonight to just preface her issue with “the summer people are here.”

Tonight a server asked a table how they’d like their steak cooked. He said charred.

She explained that charred wasn’t a temperature.

This he began to berate her.

Being difficult for the sake of being difficult.

She asked if he wanted it Pittsburg style.

He said no because that was raw in the middle.

He continues to lecture her.

She finally ordered it Pittsburgh medium.

He didn’t complain.

Then table 25 gets their steak.

Send it back because it’s over cooked.

The server brings it to the kitchen. It had been ordered medium.

In the kitchen.

Under the bright lights.

It was a perfect medium.

I’m called to the kitchen to be shown the steak.

I’m told to go speak to the table.

I do.

I explain the steak is a perfect medium. Etc. etc.

The guest says. And I repeat. I did not order a medium steak. I ordered it pink.

Pink is not a temperature.

Pink is not choice.

The guest takes the steak back.

Then at the first opportunity in front of the server makes a show of pushing it aside.

He of course took the steak home with him in a doggy bag.

One of my servers tonight said we should offer our guest a tract like the Jehovah Witnesses. We’ll call it an Introduction to our Lord and Savior: Common Sense.

It would lay out the rules of eating in a restaurant.

I couldn’t agree more.